


A True Vision of Beauty

by carpesidera



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cousin Incest, F/M, Jon Snow Knows Nothing, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Lyanna Lives, Tumblr Prompt, jon is a prince
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpesidera/pseuds/carpesidera
Summary: Lyanna survived the War of Five Kings and Jon grows to be a Prince of the Realm, only when his father dies He and his mother must flee to the North to let his half-Brother rule.





	1. Chapter 1

Winterfell was a formidable castle, dark and covered in the shadows of winter’s clouds. Jon Targaryen sat on his black stallion, a gift from his now deceased father The King of the Nine Kingdoms, and stared up at the castle. He felt like it stared back at him, judging him for his southern clothes, southern accent and southern horse. Nothing about him was Northern, he wasn’t born into snow and his face while rarely smiling didn’t hold the deep frown that was so popular amongst the North.

His mother rode upside him, ever the Northerner, her horse a brown Clydesdale fitted into the back drop of winter so well Jon could have sworn she had never left the north. She had wrapped herself in furs and worn leather. She smiled at the castle and took a deep breath of the frozen air.

“Do you know my darling, if something had happened to me during the war this is where you would have grown up.” This was not a surprise to Jon as she had mentioned it numerous times on the trek here but sometimes it’s better to not remind Lyanna Stark of her mistakes.

“Really? I don’t think I would have liked it here.” He mumbled back pushing his stallion forward towards the castle walls.

“You would have loved it Jon! You would have grown up with your cousins, and Ned. You would hero worship your Uncle Ned. I hero worship him and I grew up with him.” Lyanna pushed her horse forward and its longer legs out paced his stallion, who did not like the idea at all and tried to trot ahead but Jon had to pull the reins back and his mother laughed.

“You were never the best rider; I blame the south for that.”

“I blame the south for a lot of things.” Jon muttered causing the smile on his mother’s face to fall and an uncomfortable silence to rise around the two.

Jon couldn’t forget why they were here. His father the King of all Seven Kingdoms was dead, and his mother even after 18 years of happy marriage was forced to run from Kings Landing to her childhood home by her step-son, Jon’s half-brother Aegon.

Aegon had never truly liked both his half-brother and step-mother, after the war of five kings. His mother Elia Martell had died in the war, killed by banners men of the Baratheons. Traitor’s to the crown and who had entered the castle attempting to kidnap Lyanna. They had found instead Elia the first wife of Rheagar Targaryen, they raped and then murdered her. Jon understood completely why Aegon had never gotten over his mother’s death but he still blamed Lyanna every single day.

On the evening of their father’s funeral, while Lyanna sat on the steps by his body praying to the new gods and old for his soul to be at peace, Aegon sent servants to pack their things, called Jon to his solar and told him his plan.

“Brother, I know we have never been close, but with father gone and the seven kingdoms needing peace, I am sending you with your mother back to the North where you belong. From there you will be my eyes and ears, tell me what the north plan to do and when they plan to do it.” When Jon went to interrupt to state that the north had been at peace for some time now, the new king just sighed, “I am your king, you leave at first light. And Jon, you may carry Fathers last name but you will always be a bastard and your mother will be a whore, don’t let yourself forget that.” With a wave of his hand Jon was dismissed and before he could say goodbye to his father or his Aunt, who was truly his only friend, his mother and he found their way onto the king road.

The road North had been long; he had complained and whined the whole time while his mother, ever the perfect Lady had sat in silence most of the way, only to comment on a flower or tree they passed. At every Inn, she was welcomed with open arms as the Queen of both the North and the Seven Kingdoms she was given the best rooms, and the people flocked to see her offering gifts or words of encouragement. Widows far and wide came to give advice to the newly widowed queen.

Jon had stood beside her the whole time, his hand resting on his sword as he took in every farmer, peasant or low ranked lord. His grey eyes never leaving their faces. He couldn’t believe how the people treated his mother, as if she was The Mother incarnate or a Fae from old tales. She had always been just his mother, or in Kings Landing she had been the woman who started a war. The affection and the kindness theses strangers had for her made Jons heart ache because he realised as he stood guard over his lady Mother the people who did not know her loved the Queen more than even he did.

“Mother.” He croaked out, just before the pair rode through the gates of Winterfell.

She turned to stare at him, her own grey eyes looking wide almost into his soul.

“Why do the people here love you, while they spit your name in the South?” he had not dared asking this question in the many day’s travel but at the sight of the Castle looming over him he felt almost brave.

She smiled at the question and rode up side him, taking one of his hands in hers, “Because I am a Stark, before anything else, before being a queen, or a Targaryen or even a mother, I am a Stark of Winterfell and a Stark of Winterfell means a friend to those who normally do not have high born friends. Jon, I was born with a sword in one hand and the lives of my people in the other. The south does not understand; they do not understand the ways of the North. The fact that I dared to go against my father’s wishes and flee with Rheagar, to follow my heart over my duty, is something the Southern Lords and Ladies will never understand. Plus, my fleeing caused a lot of heart break for a lot of people, your brother and sister included, you must never think ill of them.”

Jon stared to weep quietly, his mother had never been so candid in all his days.

“He, Aegon, called you a whore and I a bastard.”

“Yes, I know. But he is hurting, my darling Rheagar never discussed their mother. They were forced to kneel to me, and to call me mother. They are in pain that is over 18 years with no help to heal.”

With that she dug her heels into her steed and rode on, past the front gates of Winterfell and deep into the grounds. Jon followed swiftly, his own horse needing a lot more encouragement, as if understanding its rider’s reluctance.

“You and me both buddy.”

—-

The Grounds of Winterfell was unlike anything Jon had ever seen, people milled around everywhere, carrying their wares or selling them. The people while looking rough and weather worn smiled at each other or sang as they walked around the snow-covered ground. When they took in the two strangers riding up, most stopped their activities and stared openly. It wasn’t till Lyanna looked up and around the grounds did the people realise who they were in the presence of.

They started to cheer and clap and a few who must of know some form of etiquette bowed low to their queen. Lyanna ever the perfect Lady, slide off her horse and walked amongst them, passing her reins to Jon without a second glance. The people gathered around her, wanting to touch Winterfell’s long lost daughter.

“Is this a good idea mother?” Jon called over the crowd and Lyanna looked up her ever-worrying son, “Jon, you need to relax.” And she laughed at a joke someone made before walking with them up to the stairwell of the great castle.

The great door opened and the most beautiful girl- no woman- Jon had ever seen stepped out of the shadows. Her hair was a brilliant red, with porcelain skin and a black fur cloak she looked like something out a dream. Jon transfixed with the beauty before him, slid of his horse, handing the reins to both horses to a random who ran to get them.

Lyanna climbed the stairs two by two, bounding up to the woman and engulfing her in an embrace. Jon followed quietly, his eyes never leaving the red head.

“Jon Targaryen, can I please introduce to you Sansa Stark, your cousin and my darling niece.” Lyanna grabbed both their hands, and Sansa finally looked up at him with large green eyes. She dipped a curtsy low.

“Welcome to Winterfell, your Highness.” Her voice felt like dripping honey on his heart and he bent down low in a bow, his face redder than anything. If Dany could see him no she could have laughed him off the ramparts.

“My father is in the crypt, saying good evening to my mother, he will join us soon.” She led Lyanna by the elbow into the dark castle.

Jon followed behind transfixed.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a small prompt from Tumblr... But now there is a chapter two. Maybe a chapter three

Sansa stared blankly at the people in front of her. Low level lords and ladies who scraped at the feet of the Starks. Ever since her Mothers untimely death they had flocked to the castle, wanting to control the new Lady of Winterfell, which was her. But as she stared at them and took in none of their words she knew she would never be a Mistress to their demands. Her mother had ignored them for all her days as Lady of Winterfell preferring to keep her own counsel or the counsel of the Southern ladies who travelled north with her.

  
But those Ladies are long gone, back south with her mother’s body. Sansa had prayed to all the gods the old and the new to make her father let her leave. But as the wagon taking her mother left the castles court yard she felt her father’s hand on her shoulder, “You’re in charge now My Dear. Make her proud.”

  
And Sansa was hopeful that she would make her Southern Mother proud in the North. The days after the funeral and after her father retreated to the crypt, to make a statue of her Mother to stay in the crypt, she worked harder than ever before. Her studies with her tutors long forgotten, the hours she use to spend embroidering and chatting with others were distant memories as she learnt to deal with the house hold staff, argued with the chef over evening meals and dealt with her siblings.

  
In a span of three short weeks all discussion of a possible marriage for her was gone, her Father who had pushed her Mother to even think of a political marriage had stopped all further correspondence with the Greyjoy heir and the Tyrell heir. Their ravens still came though now few and far between and the Northern Princess stopped dreaming of a time she would finally go South.

  
The people before her in the great hall still chatted on, ignoring the yawn and obvious boredom of their lady who sat primly on the Lords Chair, her legs tucked underneath her. Arya her devil of a little sister sat next to her, angrily shoving a needle through a piece of cloth in an attempt to embroider a wolf, the family emblem.

  
“Oh go outside Arya, find your brothers and play.” She whispered and Arya looked up hopefully, her brown eyes an exact replica of their fathers.

“Will you come play?” she asked hopefully, throwing her embroidery down as quickly as possible.

“No, after this I have a meeting with cook and then I must wait to see if our Aunt is truly arriving today.” Arya looked disappointed but took Sansa’s hand.

“If Aunt Lyanna stays, do you think Father will be happy?” It broke Sansa’s heart to see her normally wild and happy sister so sad, but after Mothers passing and Fathers sadness that filled every inch of the ancient castle even Arya had felt the sadness gloom over.

“I think Father will be very happy to see her. And maybe she will bring some treats for you as well.”

Arya ran off after that, curtsying to her sister and laughing as Sansa tried to not laugh at the badly attempted formality.

She rose from her chair moments after, silence followed as the lords and ladies rose with her.

“I have much to do, I am sure you all would rather be elsewhere.”

She exited the room quickly, to the sound of whispering from the Northern families. They would never accept her as the Lady of the house. As soon as Robb comes back from his travels around the seven kingdoms and marries a Northerner the happier they will be. Sansa while born in the north and who has never been any further south than Winterfell would always be a southern lady to the men and women in that room, thanks to her red hair and manners passed on by Catelyn Tully/Stark.

But Sansa knew better, while she looked like a Tully, Spoke like a Tully and reminded everyone of the Tullys, she knew in her heart of hearts that she was a Stark, a Stark of Winterfell and like her father always said Winter was Coming. And she would weather the winter storm like her forefathers before her. But not with swords or arrows but with politeness and Social grace.

\----

Sansa’s afternoon ran smoothly, the cook only argued about two of the eight courses for the feast this evening, and she even managed to smuggle out a handful of lemoncakes from under the old crone’s nose.

She found silence as she smuggled her treat down into the crypt to find her father.

This man had been her light in the darkness her whole life, he had protected her from her brothers teasing, from her sisters displeasure and from the Lords and Ladies whispers and cruel taunts. He was the knight in every fairy tale and song she had heard ever heard.

But he was also a broken man, as he stood with his head bowed low. Talking in whispers to the stone replica of his wife, Catelyn Stark. The stone mason had done a fantastic job and in the candle light Sansa almost felt like her mother was there, holding council with her father once again. The two had been a formidable pair and one day Sansa hoped she would find someone like her father to marry.

“Aunt Lyanna should be here soon Father. You should dress for the feast.”

Ned nodded, not taking his eyes from the stone.

“You will meet them first.”

“Of course Father, as you wish.”

Shouts and cheers echoed down the cold crypt walls. That was her queue.

“Be up stairs soon Father, or I will send Bran down here to collect you.” They both knew that would not end well, as Bran had grown to resent their father for hiding in the shadows while the Stark children’s where forced to grow quickly in the broad day light.

\------

The two royals arrived on horseback; Lyanna was shocking like Arya that Sansa almost wanted to shout at her sister to get off the horse. But as she turned to face the Princess of Winterfell Sansa took in the weathered face of the Queen. The queen’s companion, the Prince, was handsome. Sansa couldn’t deny that as she dipped into a low curtsy. With his curly long hair, dark like a Starks and his frowning face. A face that would have grown up loved in this castle. A face that echoed the memory of every Stark male to ever exist.

Lyanna jumped from her steed, meeting the people around her then climbing the castle stairs, two by two like she would have done her whole childhood. Much like how Sansa and her siblings had been doing forever. Lyanna took one look at her, and Sansa felt the pit of her stomach lurch, she knew what her Aunt saw. A Tully. Not a Stark but another southerner.

Sansa braced for the brush off but instead her Aunt, the Queen, took her in her arms.

“Jon Targaryen, can I please introduce to you Sansa Stark, your cousin and my darling niece.” Jon, her cousin, had followed his mother ever dutifully. And Sansa wanted to fall to her knees. All her life Ned Stark had been the knight in all the stories and songs but one look up close at Jon’s face and suddenly she was wrong. Jon Targaryen was the hero she dreamed of.

But then she remembered her duties, “Welcome to Winterfell, you’re Highnesses. My father is in the crypt, saying good evening to my mother, he will join us soon.”

She led the Royals into the castle.

The door slammed behind them.

She prayed her Father had left the crypts


End file.
